


Conversations

by hellsperfecterrandboy



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Nonbinary Character, Other, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsperfecterrandboy/pseuds/hellsperfecterrandboy
Summary: Edgar doesn't know what to make of his encounter with past Johnny, but all things can be cured with music.





	Conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyYateXel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Song Without a Name (Reprise)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057940) by [LadyYateXel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyYateXel/pseuds/LadyYateXel). 



> I haven't written anything for fun in years so forgive the quality. And the shortness.This is based on the fic Song Without A Name by LadyYateXel, the reprise mainly and as such it won't make much sense if you haven't read it. I can't recommend that fic enough, honestly. It's my favorite fic of all time and is beautifully written. I don't own these versions of Edgar and Johnny, sadly. Or any versions of them.
> 
> Also the ending song is 'Everything's Alright' by Laura Shigihara.

It took Edgar a while to get out of bed when he heard the noise. The bedside table with his glasses seemed much farther away than it really was, and when he put them on it took him a moment to remember that the lights in his room were off. Once he was certain that he hadn't gone blind overnight, he lumbered out of bed and towards the door. A few times he tripped over spare things laying on the floor, shirts and shoes scattered around, likely Johnny's, and slammed his ankle into the side of the door, but eventually he made it out and down the hall without any significant injury to his person. 

When he made it downstairs the wall clock read 3:15 a.m as he passed, and he made a mental note to fix it because there was no way it was that early. A glance out the window into the pitch black assured him that the clock was fine. He blinks blearily and walks into the kitchen where he hears the distinct sound of clanging pots and pans coming from the direction of the cupboards. No doubt Johnny had been up late again and had decided on spaghettios. A hunched figure greets him upon entering the kitchen, facing away from him, and digging through all the kitchen drawers one after the other. 

Edgar smiles fondly and asks, "Couldn't sleep?"

Quicker than he ever remembers seeing, Johnny turns around and stares at him intently. His eyes are wider and bigger and darker than Edgar thinks should be possible, and out of some half forgotten instinct he backs away slightly. Johnny's hands come up and curl into little claw like things, and Edgar notices now that he's wearing his gloves. Not the fingerless gloves or the glitter encrusted ones from performances, but long black rubber things reminiscent of what one would wear while cleaning. The clothes from yesterday only amplify the creeping feeling of dread Edgar is experiencing, the outfit of tattered stripes and hand-sewn together rags bringing bile to his throat.

"You could say that, yes." Johnny says.

His voice is immediately different, serious and strange while he enunciates every word. It's surprisingly formal sounding, too,coming from Johnny's mouth. He looks at Edgar with an expression of disinterest now, unlike the one of revulsion and anger from a moment past, and turns back to dig into the cupboards again. Edgar stares open-mouthed, watching Johnny's movements with unease. The way he moves with the strangely serpentine movements makes Edgar's mouth dry. A memory conjures up unbidden, and Edgar can vaguely remember a flash of this Johnny. The person he remembered referring to as 'the maniac' in his head. More than once. The memory and Johnny's clothing, this patchwork recreation of another him brings his fear into the forefront. His murderer is sitting in front of him. Not his partner in this life or friend in the last, but the psychotic killer he can remember with his sprawling basement torture chamber and his crazed intelligence. 

Johnny abruptly stands. Having retrieved his can of slightly dusty spaghettios, he turns and walks out of the kitchen without a glance back to Edgar. Edgar feels sick as he watches him go, and reluctantly follows. Johnny leaps onto the couch and flips a channel on the TV, either ignoring Edgar entirely or just forgetting he was there.

He flips to a home improvement show and looks over to Edgar on the other side of the room after a few minutes. He regards him with a cool curiosity, as if Edgar was going to try something. His posture says that he's relaxed, but Edgar knows that that calm could disappear at any moment.

Edgar feels struck with two thoughts at once. Firstly, why was this Johnny here… and next, perhaps more worrying, what should he do about it? Edgar can feel his brain running at full speed, analyzing triggers and possibilities and exits in case things went bad and-

"Is this your house?"

His brain halts to a stop. Rewinds to the present. He stares blankly at the expectant face of Johnny and then feels himself falling into a routine he didn't even know he knew. His voice is steady and slow, as if talking to a child or a wild animal. With the way Johnny is staring at him, he thinks the latter.

"Um, yes. It is."

Johnny has his eyes back on the TV immediately, and his hands reach for the can of spaghettios discarded next to him on the couch. He reaches into his pocket and quick as a whip pulls out a pocket knife and begins sawing at the top of the can with purposeful efficiency. The top comes off with a crack, and Johnny reaches into the can with the knife and begins eating off of it like one would a spoon. Edgar watches in alarm, hoping that he doesn't cut his mouth and what about all the germs on that knife because Edgar has seen Johnny cut into things that didn't need to be cut into on multiple occasions. Johnny, oblivious, eats the stuff quickly, and when he's done he wipes the knife into the couch upholstery.

"So, Vargas," he begins, eyeing Edgar once again. " I believe that you and I have some catching up to do." 

He smiles in a deceitfully sweet way before his face falls into a grimace. Edgar can imagine the smell of cheap canned pasta on his breath. The spaghettios can and the pocket knife are both forgotten, seemingly, on the couch now.

" I can't begin to explain to you what it's like where I've been, but I can tell you that the first few times I came out here I was still in the past. Or I felt like I was in the past, whatever. But these last few times I've been about I've been more …aware. I know what you and the other me are… doing."

He shudders with a look of disgust and Edgar's face goes red.

"We're not doing anything, I swear! You! The other you doesn't like that and of course I would never force you- him, fuck! Force him into something he didn't want to do!"

The words come rushing out faster than he can keep track of, his face burning. 

'Good job not looking like a creep in front if your murderer, ' he thinks.

Johnny looks green.

"I don't need to hear it. Please. And I believe you, Vargas. You're a moral sort of guy, after all, right? You were when I knew you. Which, admittedly, wasn't very long." Johnny pauses to give an unsettling sort of smile. "But I got the gist I think. It really was shame that you had to die. But sacrifices had to be made."

If Johnny can tell how confused he is he pays no mind.

He stares at the floor a moment before glancing back up.

"Anyhow, I don't care what you and him do. As long as I'm not around for it, mind you. So if we could leave the subject I'd be very grateful. I have a feeling I'm only going to be here for a short while and I'd like to enjoy it."

Edgar's mouth isn't really cooperating, but he nods anyway. 

Johnny watches him in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before he turns his attention once more to the television. For several minutes he watches the home improvement show like it's the most interesting epic of our time. An excited woman goes on about antique furniture and barn doors while her male companion looks less than enthused. Edgar tries to look nonchalant as he moves to stand closer to the couch, and a question comes to him without warning and soon he's asking a question that might better be left unanswered.

"Why did you kill me?"

Edgar feels completely, utterly stupid the minute the words leave his mouth and quickly clamps his hands over his mouth.

"Suffice to say I had to."

Edgar didn't expect a reply, let alone one so quickly, and he stares at Johnny, the light of the TV painting him in cozy pastel colors.

" I didn't really have a choice in the matter, unfortunately. If I had… I liked you, Vargas. For the short time I knew you you managed not to annoy me. That's a rare thing. You should be proud. And… you shouldn't worry about me killing you now."

Edgar chuckles nervously, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"I doubt I have time, at any rate."

Edgar's laugh crawls back down his throat and dies.

"That's… good. I'd rather not die."

Johnny looks at him and cocks his head, bird-like almost. He stares for a full minute before he says, "You said that the last time too."

Johnny seems to contemplate this for a moment.

Edgar can't formulate a reply before he sees a mass of blue and black rushing at him quicker than he can process. He lets out a scream as he's rushed against a wall, a hand at his throat constricting his airway. His own hands reach up to claw at the gloved digits encircling his neck while he makes sputtering noises in his attempts to speak. Johnny's face is inches away from his, his teeth bared in an animalistic snarl. From this close his eyes are bloodshot and the bruised looking rings painted around them make his eyes look sunken in and ghastly. Though it's an effort to, Edgar thinks, and thinks that someone of Johnny's size couldn't possibly be this strong. The hand holding him up doesn't shake at all as it lifts Edgar's feet off of the ground without any apparent effort from Johnny. He's got a look in his eyes that reminds him or carnage. Two lifetimes of carnage and one that quickly appears to be going the same route.

" Does this seem familiar to you, Edgar? Does this position you're in remind you of anything? I think it does, I can see it in your eyes. I can see those cogs turning, you thinking this over in your head. Trying to think of one of your pretty justifications, calm down Johnny, right? Make Johnny happy? I think you know more than you let on, Edgar. I think that little brain of yours remembers. Was your game plan to not tell me- us- him about it? Make it easier on him? Or do you just want to look like the sane one in this 'relationship'? …Is it getting difficult to think? After a minute of strangulation the brain cells start dying. Did you know that?"

He pauses for an agonizing few seconds and looks upwards before smiling savagely back down. Edgar's entire world is down to colors and haze.

"It's been a solid 60 seconds, don't you think?"

He drops Edgar to the floor unceremoniously, his body slamming into the floor and jarring his bones. The carpet does little to soften his fall because all he feels when he hits the floor is solid concrete. His lungs burn as he gasps for breath, and the world around him cracks and changes while he tries to get his bearings. His floor shakes and distorts under him, carpet giving way to something old and covered in splintering wood. Everything burns when he pulls himself into a sitting position. He pants heavily and it hurts to breathe, but not as much as dying would have, he thinks. The room slowly shifts and the carpet is warm under his fingers.

Johnny is, somehow, across the room now, wringing his hands and scratching at his arms with his nails. His confidence of earlier is gone. He looks scared and vaguely confused. He has black trails running down his face from his makeup but his unnaturally dark circles remain. Crying, Edgar realizes distantly, still catching his breath and waiting for the world to stop spinning. Johnny is panting now, possibly from exertion- lifting a grown man with those skinny limbs just isn't possible- but Edgar sees the shake of his chest and the way his arms scratch angry red lines into available skin. Panic attack, most likely. Edgar watches as his best friend falls apart in front of him. Then Johnny shambles to the couch, slowly, laboriously, and sits.

The maniac perches on the edge of a cushion and his eyes flick open and closed rapidly while it looks like his chest is trying to escape his body through his heaving chest. Eventually the temptation to help becomes too much, and Edgar finds himself walking towards Johnny despite his trembling limbs. He feels a bruise around his neck already forming, a necklace of fingerprints in his flesh. It's the kind of thing Edgar can vividly remember thinking about when his mind wanders, but he shakes the thought away. Not the time. Not the time at all. He looks at Johnny and takes a few more cautious steps forward. He's only a few feet away now. Johnny's head snaps up and he glowers at him through slitted eyes, trying to appear threatening. The illusion is shattered when he starts crying again. His voice is strained as his sobs come out sounding broken. With his head down Edgar feels safe to walk a little closer, holding out a hand to steady Johnny's shaking frame. His hand makes contact with one boney shoulder, feeling the soft cotton and scratchy overlay of glitter and fake blood, and he feels that burning sensation he always feels when touching Johnny, who remains still for a minute or two, still crying into his knees and scratching at his scalp. Then he snaps his head up again with a sickening cracking noise and screams with enough force to make his throat rupture.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!!"

Edgar backs away so fast he trips over his feet in his effort to get away. He stumbles back into the wall and stays there, watching Johnny with his eyes blown wide and his heart racing. He slides to the floor. On the couch, Johnny makes no move to attack, but his crying seems to have stopped.The twitching of his body slows eventually, and he uncurls himself from his fetal position. His eyes are open again, and from across the room Edgar can see the realization in them. The guilt. The black of his eyes retreats and is replaced with that warm brown color, shining now with tears. Edgar's heart leaps out of his chest and all he feels is relief and longing as Johnny shakily stands. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, listening. Checking for voices, probably. Edgar's memories are fractured at best right now, all overlayed, but he can dimly recall the second Johnny's ranting about his voices and his own feelings, about how badly they seemed to control his actions. Johnny would come to his house unannounced and stay for days and tell him how quiet it was without the voices. How peaceful. More often than not though, Edgar would still sustain injuries from Johnny's impromptu 'sleepovers', regardless of whether or not the roommates in his head had interfered or not. Now Johnny stares at the ceiling and his hands twitch for something, but whether it's for a long discarded weapon or just Edgar's windpipe he can't really tell. From Edgar's place on the floor he can also see the rapid tapping motions of his boots, all clanging buckles and zippers. After looking closer, he sees that his hands are moving to the same slow rhythm. Johnny hums snippets of it, but they're disjointed and Edgar watches for a minute before it comes to him, and then he's singing softly.

" Short steps, deep breath  
Everything is alright  
Chin up, I can't  
Step into the spotlight  
She said, "I'm sad,"  
Somehow without any words  
I just stood there  
Searching for an answer."

The words come easy, as they always do, and Edgar is painfully aware with this song that his voice isn't nearly as nice to listen to as Johnny's would be. He keeps going, encouraged when Johnny turns his head to look at him.

"When this world is no more  
The moon is all we'll see  
I'll ask you to fly away with me  
Until the stars all fall down  
They empty from the sky  
But I don't mind  
If you're with me, then everything's alright."

Johnny finally stops his tapping and shaking and he takes the few steps towards Edgar on the floor and looks down at him. A single tear is still running down his face, black from his makeup, and it leaves a dark trail from his eye to his chin and down and down until it drips onto Edgar's carpet. Edgar feels a strange sense of calm come over him and he can finally understand what Johnny was talking about when he said that the others could be only half there sometimes. Present Edgar is scared to death of past Johnny, but the first Edgar knows how to deal with him. More or less. He feels his other self with him- almost like a guardian angel. Edgar pats the place on the floor next to him and continues singing.

"Why do my words always lose their meaning?  
What I feel, what I say  
There's such a rift between them  
He said, "I can't  
Really seem to read you. "  
I just stood there  
Never know what I should do."

Johnny takes his place next to him, humming the tune and staring almost through him. His eyes are brown, and Edgar wonders if they really ever were black. Either way they're piercing through him as Johnny starts to sing the final chorus, his voice strained but still enchanting nonetheless. His voice breaks a few times but the melody carries a weight to it that makes Edgar less than inclined to care.

The moon is all we'll see  
I'll ask you to fly away with me  
Until the stars all fall down  
They empty from the sky  
But I don't mind  
If you're with me, then everything's alright."

Johnny looks at him, really looks at him, and Edgar is struck because he can see three people looking back at him, and by the way Johnny's eyes widen he can guess that he's seeing something similar. The faces flash before his eyes and with them his environment shifts around him and he can see old wooden floors and machinery and artwork on the walls and blood and Johnny throughout it all. A crack blooms up the side of Johnny's face and splinters off like broken glass and Edgar reaches out and touches it and feels nothing but warm skin. Johnny flinches as he makes contact, but does nothing else. Blood comes out of the wound but it's like smoke that floats up into the atmosphere and dissipates. Forgotten. Edgar smiles at Johnny and Johnny stares back at him before he slowly smiles too. Edgar's song, uncomfortably silent through this whole encounter, swells and shifts around them but Edgar ignores it. Johnny rests his cheek against Edgar's hand and brings his own up to place against it, the rubber cold and impersonal but so Johnny all the same.

Johnny has stopped smiling when he says, "I'm sorry."

Edgar stares at him and his song spikes and screams and Johnny's other faces melt away. He sings the last line alone.

"If you're with me, then everything's alright."

And Edgar wonders if past Johnny really just came back for a can of probably expired spaghettios.


End file.
